Walls Come Down
by slytherin-until-i-die
Summary: AU. As Hogwarts School's most bitter Quidditch rivals, Harry and Draco love nothing more than hating one another... that is, until a highly-forbidden party, a game of Truth or Dare and a thoughtless moment threatens to alter their relationship forever.


**Hey guys! Well, this is my first ever Drarry fic! I've decided I love this pairing so much that it's up there with my OTP, Dramione – with that amount of love, I knew it would only be a matter of time before I got writing about them! Not sure if this is going anywhere yet – let me know with a review if you think it should continue. I've also just realised that, as this first chapter is a prologue, the rest of the chapter numbers are going to be messed up... ugh, ah well, hopefully it'll be simple enough to understand. I know it's kind of short. Please, please, PLEASE enjoy, and tell me what you think!**

_**Walls Come Down**_

_by slytherin-until-i-die_

**(set in an alternate universe – Voldemort was killed in the students' 5****th**** year and school continued normally from then onward with the same rivalries in terms of blood status, house points and Quidditch)**

/

Prologue – _Circumstances:_

Harry stumbled over the threshold and out of the Ravenclaw common room, away from the smell of sweat and alcohol and the bodies of his fellow students crammed into too small a space. His head swam with both the excessive volume of Firewhisky he had consumed over the last few hours and the knowledge of how easily he could be found here by one of the staff – he was, after all, out and about, wandering the corridors after hours – but he quickly found that no amount of fear inspired him to return to the party, turned his feet in the opposite direction, lured him back into the heat, the circus, the debauched snake-pit that Ravenclaw Tower had temporarily taken the form of. Harry had never seen anything like this – in fact, he was certain a New Years' Eve gathering such as _this _one had never taken place under the castle's roof and would surely go down in Hogwarts history. He wondered idly whether or not the teachers would find out. As he rounded the corner that took him up and onto the Grand Staircase, he tried to picture Professor McGonagall hammering on the Ravenclaw portrait furiously with her fist, demanding access, sporting slippers and a grey dressing gown, her greying hair twisted into its usual tight knot on top of her head. The students inside would rapidly glance around and the panic would begin – bottles of mulled mead, spirit and Firewhisky would be shoved haphazardly under the blue Persian rug in the centre of the room, drunken teenagers would disentangle themselves from one another and those intoxicated past the point of possessing the ability to stand up would be dragged upstairs to the Ravenclaw dormitories until the coast was clear.

Harry sat down on the staircase as it ascended through the air of its own accord and tried to empty his head of the thought. He no longer had to think about that farcical party. The fact was he was here, not there – he had evaded them all, he had gotten out. He had escaped everything he had done, everything that had happened there tonight.

After flying up another flight of stairs, tripping clumsily over his own feet several times on the way, the stone passageway opened up, a wonderful, fresh breeze blew in and Harry stepped out onto the roof of the Astronomy Tower. He released a deep sigh he felt like he'd been holding in forever and skirted around the edge of the roof, his cheeks flushed, breathing heavily, hoping to clear his head and settle the wave of nausea that had been rolling through his stomach for several minutes now. Sitting down on one of the low brick pillars, he gazed out across the still Hogwarts grounds and watched a ghostly white owl as it glided silently over the trees of the Forbidden Forest. His pale green eyes followed the bird's form until it had disappeared completely into the dark and distant night sky. A scattering of stars glittered high above, catching his attention. Now that he focused on the heavens, he saw that the royal blue atmosphere was seemingly endless, almost as if it stretched on to the next world, streaked with an assortment of unfathomable colours that were all entirely different yet still managed to complement one another perfectly – pasty amaranth pink, a rich teal, a line of ashen silver, so lustrous that, depending on how he tilted his head, it appeared gold. This last was the colour of early, frozen winter mornings, of the feathered wings of an angel, of Draco Malfoy's pallid hair as the tips slipped through his fingers...

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, shuffled forward from his perch and sank down on the slated roof, his back against the brick pillar. He manoeuvred his body so that his cheeks rested on his knees and stared down helplessly at the ground, breathing in slowly through his nose and out through his mouth in an attempt to regulate his pulse, which had just quickened absurdly. He felt sick once more, but this time, he was certain the alcohol was not to blame. Deciding that this was not the best place to vomit if he hoped not to get caught, Harry hauled himself up, using the low wall around the top of the Tower for support, crossed the roof and slipped back through the heavy wooden door.

When he descended the final step at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower, he turned west and sped up, his stomach churning uneasily, in the direction of the Seventh Floor bathroom. He didn't stick to the shadows or even try to keep his footsteps light – Harry knew he was behaving recklessly, but he was long past the stage of worrying or even caring. If he was found by one of his professors, could he tell them about the party? Would he be able to? He wasn't entirely sure as to whether or not the secrecy charms Eddie Carmichael and Cho Chang had placed around the room extended and followed the guests beyond the walls of Ravenclaw Tower. Besides, he found himself not feeling particularly bothered. At what point during this evening had he regarded his sense of recklessness and stupidity? Given his actions and their consequences a second thought?

Harry flung himself into the bathroom, gripped the cold porcelain sides of the first sink he came to with his hands and leaned over, stooping so far forward that his forehead rested on the mirror, and at last, he felt at peace. The cool, smooth glass sent ripples of calm through his body and, for long moments, he did nothing but gradually regulate his breathing and use his thumbs to rub circles into the sides of his index fingers on each hand, a relaxation technique his best friend Ron's mother, Molly Weasley, had taught him when he had shared Christmas with them for the first time four years ago. It worked like a charm and, before long, he felt composed enough to withdraw from where he stood and sit down on the silky tiled floor, just around the corner from where the sinks were plumbed into the opulently decorated wall. He stared at a magically-animated mosaic high on the wall facing him that depicted an emerald and silver water snake, gliding serenely over the surface of a glowing green pond. Its movements were so serene, so controlled, so hypnotic that, in no time at all, Harry's shining eyes took on a glazed, unseeing quality. His lids felt heavy and, so quickly that he had no idea what had happened, he drifted off into unconsciousness.

A while later, although how much later, he could not say, Harry's eyes flew open in response to the sound of fast, clattering footfalls far too close for his liking. He knew he could not have been out for long – his headache was still present; if anything, his doze had caused the throbbing, stabbing pain to increase – but the dark blue colour of the night sky, visible through the frosted glass windows above the mosaic decorations, had lightened by several shades. Dawn could not be far from breaking. He gasped, kicking out at the hard tiles and shuffling further along the wall so as to remain invisible from the intruder for as long as possible. Pulling his knees up to his chest and locking his arms around them, he concentrated on keeping his breathing as silent as he could manage. He sat so still, his heartbeat made his body hum from within.

Whoever they were slowed to a halt before turning on one of the water taps. Harry heard the icy flow as it was interrupted – presumably by the person's hands – then exhaled deeply, his eyes widening in realisation, as the intruder let out a long, pensive sigh; it was a sigh that, to his mortification, he recognized instantly. The boy by the sink splashed his face once, twice, three times, before turning off the tap and sinking to his knees. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a sob rip its way through the overly-familiar boy's calm façade.

There was nothing for it. Although this was a situation he knew he would have to face at some point, he had no idea it would be this soon, and was therefore unprepared to deal with it, with him, with looking into his eyes and trying to forget everything that happened between them that night. Without thinking, he stood up, not trying to keep quiet, and went to stride out of the bathroom, keeping his chin up, his head high, never turning to look at the boy. But then he heard a gasp, a low chuckle, then a voice, a voice he knew he simply couldn't ignore.

"Potter," he said, notes of both fear and hysteria in his voice. Harry didn't turn. He took two more steps, the second of these causing him to cross the threshold into the corridor. They were slow, though, too reluctant, and, before he could continue, exit, _escape_, he spoke again. "Harry."

Harry turned at the sound of his first name and stared directly at Draco Malfoy, their harlequin green and stormy grey eyes meeting immediately. Draco's silver-blonde hair was not set in its usual carefully casual state of disarray – all of the gel was gone, and instead, it stuck up at odd angles. His charming, smirking face appeared waxy and haunted, his eyes framed by dark circles. His jaw fell slack as Harry faced him.

"Draco," he began. He opened his mouth to continue but, upon realising that he had nothing to say and no idea how to say it or even how to string words together to form proper sentences, closed it once more. "I've got to go," he found himself slurring, wheeling around to leave.

"Harry," Draco protested quickly. Was that a hint of desperation he heard in Malfoy's voice that was usually laced with so much superiority, so much confidence?

Harry turned. Draco was closer now – he stood a mere three, four yards away, and Harry could now make out the finer details of his appearance. He counted his long, dark eyelashes, gazed upon his high cheekbones, traced the curve of his lips with his eyes...

"We can't run away from this, Potter," Draco said, stepping closer. "Not now, not ever. We can't hide what happened tonight."

/

**So what did you think? Any ideas about what happened to provoke this scene? About the party? DO YOU WANT TO READ MORE? If you do, leave me a review and follow this story – inspire me to keep writing it! Love to you all!**


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